


living and singing for you

by squidgirlfriends



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Plant Magic, The Black Death, but first there's lots of pain muahaha, dw guys im a weak mf and wont go too in depth, semi-explicit desc. of bubonic plague symptoms, soft boyfriend stuff, this is a huge mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 15:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidgirlfriends/pseuds/squidgirlfriends
Summary: Tooru was sitting in front of the fireplace, wearing his own new clothes. Even though it was still summer, a fire crackled in the hearth. His hair was still damp, and his bangs clung to his forehead. He stood, and on wobbly legs, he crashed into Hajime, throwing his arms around his neck. He felt tears gather in his eyes again, as he held Tooru close. He’d forgotten how soft, how warm his skin was, he’d forgotten the smell of honeysuckle and lavender that always seemed to linger about him, he’d forgotten how skinny they’d both become and he was crying again, into Tooru’s shoulder."You’re such a crybaby, such a crybaby,” Tooru murmured, even though Hajime was sure he was crying, too. Tooru kissed his neck, over and over and over, his fingers gently tracing little shapes onto his back. He never wanted to let go, never, never.





	1. it's cold beyond the stars

**Author's Note:**

> this is 200 percent a mess. BUt. I had fun writing it
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime sighed, stretching his arms out above him. Tooru’s eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and he found himself staring at the little strip of skin that showed underneath Hajime’s shirt as he stretched. Warmth, unlike the heat around them, blossomed in Tooru’s chest, raining down into his stomach.

Summers were always the worst. The air during the day stank of heat, and it never quite left, even as night fell.

Still, Tooru found this as an excuse to take advantage of the people’s weakness. He’d steal (—“ _borrow_ , Iwa-chan, just _borrowing_ ”—) horses and ride them out into the countryside. It was still sweltering, but nobody was around to look, so he went topless. The rush of air against his skin was thrilling. Sometimes Hajime would follow him, grumbling and complaining as they saddled the horses, but smiling and laughing along with his friend as they rode through the tall grasses.

They’d race back home, on some days. When the dark gradually became light, it was a mad dash back to the village, the possible danger awaiting them making the trip that much more thrilling. Once, the horse Tooru rode tripped while crossing a stream, and sent Tooru flying off his back.

Hajime yelled, but Tooru didn’t pop right back up again like he always did. He pulled his own horse to a stop and hastily jumped down, his heart thumping somewhere down in his stomach. He disregarded the horse, who seemed to have hurt its leg at some point, and rushed down the short decline. Upon seeing Tooru on the ground, brushing dirt and mud off of himself, Hajime let out a huge breath of relief. He promptly stomped down the hill and smacked him, hard.

(“ _Idiot_ ,” he hissed, just catching sight of the cuts on Tooru’s cheeks and forearms. A little droplet of blood trickled down his cheek, like a tear. Unthinkingly, Hajime reached out his hand and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. When he looked up again, Tooru was grinning stupidly.

He was covered in mud and pond scum, and there were little pebbles stuck in his mussed-up curly hair. Hajime’s heart did a little flip in his chest.

 _He’s perfect_ , his mind whispered.

 _Shut the fuck up_ , he told it.)

Hajime allowed Tooru to ride his horse back to town, while he did his best to lead the injured horse along behind him. They got in trouble, of course, but when Tooru’s mother pulled him by the ear to get his wounds patched up, he smiled to Hajime, waving a little. Hajime scowled back at him. Tooru laughed that pretty laugh of his.

 

Summers were the worst, because there was no rain to clear the air. It was always, always stuffy and muggy and terrible.

“At least in the winters, the cold smell washes it all away,” Tooru muttered, kneeling next to Hajime in the working fields.

“What are you talking about? The cold doesn’t have a smell,” Hajime replied, wiping his nose.

“Iwa-chan, you—“ Tooru gave him an incredulous look. “Of _course_ the cold has a smell!”

“Fine, then, what does it smell like?”

Tooru spluttered, grasping for words. ”I— there’s no way to, explain it! It’s just the, it just… it just smells like _cold_.”

“You’re crazy,” Hajime smirked.

“ _I’m_ crazy?” Tooru turned around. “Oy, Makki! Doesn’t the cold have a smell?”

“Yes?” Hanamaki replied, pausing in his work to shoot the both of them an odd look. “Of _course_ the cold has a smell.”

“See! Iwa-chan is saying the cold doesn’t have a smell!” Tooru jabbed a finger at Hajime triumphantly.

“Well, Iwaizumi needs to get his nose fixed,” Matsukawa pitched in from a row over.

“You all are nuts,” Hajime grumbled. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. He could feel Tooru staring at him.

 

The word of disease arrived just after the last of winter’s snow melted. At first it was only a few people who lived by the bay who’d fallen. Then, the entire bayside town had been infected. It spread like wildfire, people whispered. It was only a matter of time before the foulness reached them, they said. It was quite surprising, all the things you could hear in the marketplace, if you knew how to listen.

Tooru furrowed his brow. Something like cold dread slid down sluggishly to his stomach. Disease at the beginning of the warm season wasn’t a good sign.

 

-

 

On July the twentieth, Tooru turned fifteen. The old woman who lived at the edge of town was found dead that morning, and rumors floated around town. Most were talk of magic, but some spoke of the disease, the accursed infection brought from the bayside village. Tooru shuddered, remembering the sight of the men carrying the woman’s body from her home.

 

He was getting older now, so he had more responsibilities. His father told him to stop taking the horses out at night, and get some sleep.

(“ _You’ll be needing it, if you are to work tomorrow_ ,” he spoke as if it bored him, as if his dealing with his son were another measly task to finish.

Tooru stared down at his plate of food, not hungry. It was uncomfortably warm beneath his clothes. He itched to ride his horse far away from the limits of the town. He wanted to sail away from this land, to somewhere new. He _knew_ there were undiscovered things out there.)

After dark, Tooru sat in the garden, humming to himself. How could he sleep, if he was so used to being awake? The little flowers that bloomed under the moonlight curled in closer to Tooru, responding to his melody. Their petals flourished in different colors, and little vines poked out from the ground, entwining Tooru’s fingers and ankles and wrists in curly green.

“My mother always told me you had a way with nature magic,” a soft voice called from the other side of the garden. Hajime pushed through the taller wildflowers, doing his best to avoid stepping on the blossoms.

“What are you doing awake?” Tooru asked, watching as Hajime sat down next to him, legs crossed. He didn’t ask _why_ Hajime was there; this was something the both of them were used to. Since they were children, they would sneak to each other’s houses and play. But this was much later than when they usually met.

“The same thing you’re doing awake, probably,” Hajime sighed, stretching his arms out above him. Tooru’s eyelids suddenly felt heavy, and he found himself staring at the little strip of skin that showed underneath Hajime’s shirt as he stretched. Warmth, unlike the heat around them, blossomed in Tooru’s chest, raining down into his stomach.

“Won’t your mother be angry with you if she finds you missing from your bedroom?” Tooru scooted a little closer to Hajime, so he could rest his head onto his shoulder. A strong hand reached up, gently combing through Tooru’s hair. He sighed, slumping into Hajime’s side.

“Hey, c’mon,” Hajime chuckled. “Don’t crush me, loser…” He trailed off, and looked up at the sky. He was silent for a moment. “My mother doesn’t do that type of thing anymore.”

“Mmm, well she should, what with you going all delinquent on her and all,” Tooru murmured. Hajime’s laugh vibrated through him. Tooru’s heart vibrated.

 _Stop it_ , he internally yelled, though he knew he wanted anything but for it to stop.

They sat in silence together, Tooru focusing on the steadiness of Hajime’s heartbeat to calm his own, just like he always did when they ran off together as kids.

In the woods, they acted like kings. They climbed trees, believing that they could touch the heavens if they climbed high enough. Hajime liked to pick up the bugs and chase Tooru around with them.

Tooru would point out the arrangements of the stars at night.

(“ _One day, I’ll_ _be king, Hajime_ ,” Tooru whispered, when they stayed out much later than they ought to have been. He pointed up to the skies. “ _Up there_.”

“ _You’re gonna be king of the stars_?”

“ _Nuh-uh_ ,” Tooru shook his head. “ _There’s stuff past all those stars, I just know it. That’s where I’ll be king. Beyond the stars._ ”

“ _Beyond the stars_ ,” Hajime repeated, his voice nearly a whisper. Tooru could tell he believed him, when he said he was going to be king.)

“Will you stay?” Tooru whispered.

“Here?” Hajime smiled crookedly, but Tooru could feel his heart speed up. “We’ll get in major trouble—“

“You didn’t worry about that when you left your own bedroom!” laughed Tooru.

Hajime grumbled, but the smile never left his lips.

“Don’t worry, I can shoo you out before the sun rises,” Tooru batted his eyelashes, and Hajime glared at him. Yes, Hajime fought well, but he knew he was powerless when it came to Tooru.

It was too hot for blankets, and too hot to be touching, but Tooru curled into Hajime anyway, clasping their hands.  He could tell what Hajime was thinking, but he didn’t care, not in the slightest.

(“ _Aren’t we too old to be calling each other by our first names_?” Hajime muttered one day.

 _Aren’t we too old for this_?)

After all, he always slept easiest when Hajime was by his side.

 

-

 

It was nicest in the colder months, when they both piled under the blankets and Hajime pulled Tooru into his warm embrace and held him there, gently, until he fell asleep. Sometimes, if he thought hard enough, Tooru could even imagine the phantom of Hajime’s lips pressed against his forehead, that soft, low voice of his murmuring sweet things to him.

 

-

 

Tooru’s mother began to worry, when three more people fell under the mysterious infection that killed the old woman. His father tried to comfort her, to reassure her that nothing would happen to them, but Tooru could sense the underlying panic in his voice, the fear quivering in his eyes.

The people who got sick, the first died in two days. The second died in three. In five days, they were gone. The worst of the rumors that Tooru heard was that their skin turned black and the blood they brought up was black and their minds had all turned to mush.

People began to celebrate, as if the end of the world were at hand. They knew they were to die, so why not go out with a bang?

 

As the weeks passed, less people came to the working fields.

A month later, Matsukawa stopped showing up. Hanamaki wouldn’t look up, he wouldn’t talk to anyone. He only worked, wiping at his eyes every so often. Tooru didn’t know if he was wiping sweat or tears.

 

“How bad d’you think it’s going to get, before it fizzles out?” Tooru whispered to Hajime one day.

“Mm…” he hummed. “Not sure. When it rains, maybe.”

Tooru nodded. Rain brought cool, clean air with it. It washed away the previous sticky human smells, making way for the new sticky human smells. But it hadn’t rained in a long time. And Tooru didn’t know when the next rain would come. He hoped it was soon.

(Once, there was a spread of illness, when Tooru and Hajime were young. Tooru got sick, and Hajime visited him every day. Tooru didn’t get the worst of it, like many others did, but he still didn’t have the strength to leave his bed.

The night before the rain came, the air smelled sweet and damp. Hajime and Tooru’s parents swore it was his delirious little mind, but Tooru knew it would rain. The walls, the breeze had told him so.

“ _You need sleep, little one_ ,” his mother whispered, her eyes full of tears.

“ _I won’t die, mama, I won’t_ ,” he whispered back, before falling asleep.

The next morning, Tooru woke to the smell of ozone, biting at his nose. The drops of rain plunked against the roofs of the houses, it gathered in puddles along the roads below. Tooru could breathe easier, his head cleared. He stood and pushed his window open. The air, the damp, humid air carried the smell of honeysuckles and lavender.

His mother rushed into his room, and gathered him into her arms, sobbing into his hair.

“ _I was right, mama! Look at the rain_!” Tooru laughed, pointing out the window. He didn’t feel ill in the slightest.

“ _You were right, baby, you were right_ ,” she rocked him back and forth in her arms. “ _The rain did come. You were right._ ”)

 

It wasn’t too long before more and more people caught the mysterious illness. It went slowly at first, but soon the disease had spread like wildfire, breaking down the doors from house to house, infecting the residents and leaving swiftly for the next victim. There was no word of anything from the bayside village, or any other village, for that matter.

The lords of the town were having frantic meetings, contradicting orders being sent to the troops of soldiers and lesser lords as the disease picked them all off, one by one.

Tooru hadn’t seen Hajime for two weeks. He worried and worried, but he knew he had to be strong, for his mother and for his family. His priority was helping his own family, above all else. No matter how much he wanted to run to Hajime’s home and tear down the wooden bars that had been nailed over the entrance, to run inside and make sure that Hajime wasn’t the reason a big black cross had been painted on the front door.

The Great Mortality, was the name that floated along the breeze in the empty streets. The Great Mortality, people called it.

There had been no rain since the beginning of the hot months. The putrid stench of bodies and rot rose in the summer air. People had gone crazy, brother turning against brother; husband against wife. It seemed the heavens had forsaken them. There was nobody to save them.

 

Tooru walked down the empty streets, trying to listen for the sound of his father’s horse, for the sound of _anybody’s_ horse. He passed men wearing masks, people he didn’t recognize with their noses shoved into bouquets of flowers. As if that helped anything. Tooru knew they’d be dead in a week.

 

(“ _I’m just feeling a bit tired, love_ ,” Tooru’s mother smiled, standing. “ _I’m going to rest up a bit. Tell your father dinner shall be a bit later when he returns, yes_?”

“ _Yes, mother_ ,” Tooru nodded, watching her walk towards his parents’ room.

There was no reason to go to the working fields anymore. Tooru went out back, to the garden. His mother had given up on tending to the flowers and summer plants, so Tooru took up the task, if not to save himself from boredom, then to save the garden from perishing just like those around him.

In her room, Tooru’s mother sneezed.

Tooru watched the fence, wishing in vain to see Hajime jump over it, his heart tugging when he remembered that smile, when he saw the house boarded up. Helplessness filled his chest. What was he to do? He knew what the disease was capable of, but he had no idea how it attacked. He hadn’t seen it in action as his father had. He sang softly to the daisies in the garden.

They bloomed in beautiful pinks and purples and yellows. Tooru wanted Hajime to be okay.

 

The front entrance opened as his father returned home. Tooru heard wild smashing and crashing from the house, and he stood quickly, entering the house to see his father grabbing things and filling a bag. He continued searching, until he found the jar of coins they had, all their savings, as if he hadn’t seen Tooru at all.

“What are you doing?” Tooru’s voice was dangerously low, as his heart slowly descended into his stomach.

His father looked up abruptly, dropping a few coins. He nervously shoved them behind his back, pulling his bag from the table. “Just preparing for a trip, that’s all.”

“What’s in the bag, then?”

He narrowed his eyes at his son. “Just a few things.”

“A few things,” Tooru repeated. “And do you need all our savings to be with you, on your little trip?”

“Watch your _tongue_ , child,” he growled.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

No response.

“What about your wife? What about your parents? The animals? What about _me_?” Tears filled Tooru’s eyes.

“Selfish boy,” he growled again. “I told you, didn’t I? It’s only a trip. I’ll be home again soon.”

“ _Coward_!” Tooru hissed through gritted teeth. “You lying coward!”

His father stepped up to him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. His breath smelled foul, like rotting fruit.

“I hope to god you’re the one to waste away from this foul disease, your mother doesn’t deserve to deal with an urchin like you _,_ ” he threw Tooru down, and made a break for the door.

“I hope you die and rot alone, in the forest, where nobody can find you!” Tooru screamed, as his father ran down the empty street, money and bag in hand. Tooru slammed the door shut, and slid to his knees, sobbing.)

 

Tooru stopped in front of Hajime’s house once more. He could hear no noise from inside. He turned and made for his own home.

He checked on his mother once in her bedroom. She slept peacefully, unaware of what her husband had just done.

Despite it all, the sun still dipped beneath the clouds, and night grew dark. Tooru lay in bed, pinching himself. Maybe, just maybe, it had all been a dream. Maybe, maybe he would wake in the morning and see his father and mother talking and laughing as normal. Maybe the disease, the death, the stench, maybe it was all just a bad dream.

 

-

 

Tooru woke with a crick in his neck. He sat up, wincing. The first thing that hit him was the smell—the acrid stench of rot. He coughed, getting up to check if he’d left a window open overnight. He stepped into the main room, and the kitchen, expecting to see his mother brewing tea, but she wasn’t there.

“Still asleep, I suppose,” he murmured groggily. He nearly stepped on the shards of a broken pot, pulling his foot back at the last second. He stared at the shards, and tears gathered in his eyes. His father was gone. He checked the stables behind the house, expecting to see the horses, but they were gone, too.

He kicked a rock in the garden. No use in mourning his father’s absence. He still had his mother, and he still had their house, and their garden.

His mother… how was he going to tell his mother?

He sniffed the air outside. It was too-hot and heavy with the scent of sickness, though it seemed more diluted than usual. He stepped back into the house, and it hit him full-on.

Could a rat have died in the walls? Could something have snuck in overnight? The disease couldn’t infect the animals… could it?

Tooru coughed, holding his hand over his nose, and he looked around the house. Nothing. He turned to the hallway, going up to his mother’s room. His hand was on the doorknob, and suddenly it smelled so much worse. He gagged, eyes watering.

The realization hit him like a brick. He stopped breathing for a moment, his heart free-falling into his stomach. His hand was frozen over the doorknob.

(“No. _No_. _Nononononononononono_ —“)

“ _Mama_?” he whispered, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing. He heard nothing. He tenderly opened the door, fear bubbling in his gut at what he might see. Tears gathered in his eyes, falling down his cheeks. His heart suddenly found itself again, beating into overdrive.

She lay on the ground, eyes rolled back into her head. Her skin had turned pallid and pasty, black spreading out under her skin like spider webs dipped in oil. Dried blood stained the corners of her mouth, the wood of the floor beneath her.

Tooru wailed, falling to his knees.

(“You were _alright_ ,” he sobbed, “ _you were supposed to be alright_!”)

He grasped her cold hand tightly in his own. He didn’t care if he caught the disease, he was a dead man already. He wasn’t a coward, like those who ran away from their own families in fear for their own health. He didn’t care about his father anymore. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t.

His entire body shuddered, his throat closed up, but he didn’t let go of his mother’s hand. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

 

-

 

Hajime stumbled out of his house, the echoes of screaming bouncing around in his head. The sun beat down on his head. His legs, they ached like nothing he’d ever felt before, even in the working fields. It hurt, it hurt to stand and to walk and to breathe.

(“ _Go, Hajime!” His mother wailed. “I can’t stand to look at you! I can’t stand seeing you here! Go! Run! Go!_ ”)

He rested his weight heavily against the walls, as he walked through town. Rats scampered between his dirty feet. He heard doors slam shut, the hurried, muffled voices of people who he didn’t have enough energy to look up at. He felt helpless. His legs barely held him up anymore, his family didn’t want him, his friends had all gone long before— he felt helpless. It sank through his chest like a rock, and he slid down to his knees. He choked on a sob. Despite how hot it was outside, how sweaty he was, he shivered. He couldn’t get warm.

He stayed there until the sky turned dark.

 

When the only light outside was that of the moon, Hajime picked his head up. His stomach roiled. His mind spun. Where was he? How big were his fingers? Did the moon have eyes to see him with? Could the moon help him through the pain? Oh, it hurt. It wouldn’t go _away_.

Under his arm, along his ribcage, on his arms and on his legs. It hurt, _so much, so much_.

He looked around, blinking the tears from his eyes. Why was he crying? It hurt to cry, too. There was Tooru’s house, moonlight glistening against the roof. Did the moon take him to Tooru’s house? Through the delirium and the stench, he smelled honeysuckles. Tooru smelled like honeysuckles. Why had he come here? Maybe Tooru could fix him. After all, since he hurt so much, the only answer could be that he had shattered, right? Like his mother’s favorite wine glasses. Shattered glass. Yes, that had to be it.

He stumbled, and fell to his knees in front of the door. He pressed his cheek to the door. Maybe it would fix the pain. It didn’t fix the pain. Hajime winced, clutching at his stomach as he keeled over.

“Tooru,” he weakly called out, swallowing thickly. There was shattered glass in his stomach, in his throat. There were no clouds in the sky. No rain, not yet. “ _Tooru_ ,” He wheezed, the last syllable dragging out on a broken whine. “When will it rain, Tooru?” he whispered.

His legs were folded under him uselessly. He slid to the ground. No, wait, had somebody opened the door? He was leaning against the door…

He groaned. Somebody was trying to pull him somewhere. They were whispering into his hair, but Hajime couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like music, like soft, pretty music… his mother used to play, on the harp. Those musical words, they calmed the torrents of pain inside him, if only for a moment. Suddenly there was something soft beneath him, like bed. He hadn’t felt anything like a bed beneath him in… how long? How long had it been since he slept on a bed?

“When will it rain, Tooru?” he whispered. He was crying again. Wait… was he? No, those were someone else’s tears, falling warm onto his face. The prettiest brown eyes looked down into his. Tooru? Was that Tooru? Two warm hands surrounded his own. He summoned the last of his remaining strength and lifted his hand to Tooru’s cheek. “ _When will it rain, Tooru_?”

His vision blurred and faded.

He heard a voice call out to him as he floated in his personal little darkness.

(“ _Hajime_! Hajime, I _won’t_ lose you, too! _Come_ _on_ , please, please… _please_ …”

“ _Don’t go, please don’t leave me, please, Hajime_ —“

“ _I love you, I love you, please Hajime, please_ —“

He tried to respond. “ _I’m not going anywhere, love, I would never leave you, I would never,_ ”

But his lips wouldn’t move.)

 

-

 

When Hajime opened his eyes again, Tooru still held his hand. His head still spun, and his wobbly stomach still seemed to hate him with a passion, but he saw Tooru. And for a moment, that made him forget everything else.

He was skinnier that usual, his hair had lost its usual perfect luster. His face had a sunken look about it, like he hadn’t eaten or slept in weeks. Maybe he hadn’t. His head rested on the mattress, right next to where he held Hajime’s hand. He murmured in his sleep, as if he’d fallen asleep singing and hadn’t given himself the chance to stop. His long eyelashes fluttered every so often.

He squeezed Tooru’s hand.

 

-

 

Tooru thought he had nothing left. He thought he was destined to die alone. He had nowhere to go. He knew nobody outside their town. His mother died. His father left. His best friend was probably dead.

He buried his mother in the garden, reciting the funeral rites he remembered. He sang a song to the earth beneath his feet, and watched as the roots of the summer plants bound her body under the ground, taking her soul to join them. A patch of flowers bloomed at the foot of her grave, responding to the melancholy in Tooru’s voice.

It was like he had been wrung dry. He prayed to die. There was nothing left for him. Why wouldn’t he die, _why wouldn’t he die_? Why wasn’t he sick? Why couldn’t _he_ have been the one to die, in place of his mother?

He cut himself with the shards of the pot. Maybe that would make him sick. Maybe that would ease the ache in his heart, the roiling tumult of _everything_ inside him. Maybe then he would be allowed to die. Be with his mother. Be with his friends.

 

He thought he had cried himself dry by the time Hajime showed up at his doorstep, calling his name. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t slept at all. All the food they had was probably rotten, anyway.

Tooru opened the door, and there he was, weak and mumbling like he’d gone crazy, murmuring Tooru’s name and asking odd questions with a scratchy voice. Tooru saw him, and he felt something well up inside of him. He thought he was done. He was ready to die. He wanted to die. But now, here, with Hajime sitting in front of him, he wanted more than anything to pull him close, to hold him and sing his pain away.

He knew he had been kept alive for this. He knew he wouldn’t let Hajime die.

 

(“ _Tooru, baby, your voice is the best thing to use, when you heal_.”

Tooru’s mother grasped both of his little hands.

“ _My… voice_?”

She nodded, soft smile on her lips. “ _Your voice has power, Tooru. You’ve got our ancestors and my power, all combined, and we gave it to you. One day, you’ll need it_.”)

 

-

 

“I’m… hungry…” Hajime whispered blearily. Tooru turned his head slowly, and looked at Hajime, tears in his eyes. “…are you…crying?” his voice was scratchy.

“Of _course_ I am,” Tooru whispered. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?”

Hajime was under blankets, barely awake. But his thoughts were clearer, he could see Tooru clearly. He could _see_ Tooru clearly. His mind wasn’t a jumble of odd thoughts and misery.

Tooru sat down beside him, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. His skin had gained a bit more of its color. The veins in his neck had faded from black, to gray, to blue, to red.

 

(“ _Your song has power, Tooru_.”)

 

-

 

“There’s nowhere to wash. All the water is poisoned by… this,” Tooru gestured vaguely, and Hajime seemed to understand.

He had found some stale bread and honey in the kitchen, along with some dried meats and pickled vegetables in the far-off corners of the cellar.

“Still. I feel like I just sat in a tub full of shit for weeks,” Hajime grumbled, nibbling on his bread. Tooru watched him. He wanted to pinch himself. Was this a dream?

“You look it, too,” Tooru smirked.

“ _Hey_ ,” Hajime grumbled. “You aren’t looking much better, y’know.” His gaze seemed to linger on Tooru’s scabbing forearms. Tooru pulled his sleeves up to his wrists.

They fell into silence. Tooru’s gaze trailed the scars up and down Hajime’s arms and legs. He could count each of his ribs, still. Hajime was still building up his strength, but he knew they were both thinking the same thing.

“We need to leave here,” Hajime muttered.

“Leave?” Tooru asked. “Leave to where? How are we to get anywhere without the horses?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere other than here,” Hajime frowned down at his bread. “And… as long as we’re together… it doesn’t matter how we get there.”

Despite it all, Tooru smiled. “Don’t worry. There’s not a chance I’m losing you after all this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should be up soon


	2. it's warm beneath the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a glow around his face, like he was an angel. Hajime was an angel. Tooru wanted to reach his hand up, to touch his cheek and tell him to stop crying, why are you crying? I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanna say, i write sickness based off of how i feel when i'm super sick. i don't remember much except feelin pretty weird, and thiknin about pretty weird shit
> 
> (theres a teeny bit of vomit in this chap, but don't worry, im a pussy and i dont write these things too explicitly)

Despite it all, the woods were still the same. Rabbits hopped happily among the old, fallen leaves; chipmunks and squirrels skittered across the forest floor, and deer pranced around like they owned the place.

“Must be the lack of hunters out here,” Tooru muttered, watching a woodpecker hack away at a spot in the tree bark. “They all think they’re free.”

“Hmm,” Hajime hummed, squinting up at the canopy of green leaves over their heads. Even as humans died by the thousands, the forest thrived. Over the past week, Hajime was able to stand again, to walk, and help Tooru gather things to eat and water to drink, as well as set up a measly little camp every night. “They _are_ free, until whenever this epidemic dies out.”  

Tooru watched him lift his bag off the ground, kicking through twigs and dirt and pebbles. They’d found a cool, clean stream to wash their faces and hands with a couple of days ago, so now Tooru could watch Hajime wash the remnants of that horrible infection away, leaving that same tanned skin and those same green eyes that he grew up losing himself in.

On those nights, when Tooru would worry himself so much that he couldn’t sleep, Hajime would roll over on his little blanket and talk to him, take his hand and hold it to his heartbeat, just so Tooru could feel that yes, he was still alive, still there. He would talk in that soft way of his— reminding Tooru that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Baba always told me that if you catch a sickness like that and survive, then you won’t ever get it again. She said she’d seen it happen,” Hajime reassured Tooru. “That’s what the physician said when he came to see my mother, too.” He tried to hide the shake in his voice. He missed his mother. He missed his dog and his family and his home and the way he could hide things under the floorboard that stuck up in his bedroom floor. He hid Tooru’s drawings in there, he hid little books and rocks and bug shells that had been shed.

It was hard leaving home, but there was nothing left for them there; nobody to come and help them. They’d tried searching, to find anybody left alive, any child abandoned by their parents, but they came up with nothing. It seemed their little town had more ghosts than living walking its streets. There were no horses, either. Most were dead, or missing.

As hard as it was to go, Tooru and Hajime much preferred it in the forest, where things seemed more alive. They’d always preferred to be in the forest, even as children.

 

-

 

Tooru didn’t sleep well that week. Sometimes Hajime stayed awake for him, talked to him, but Tooru didn’t want to bother him too much. Hajime needed his rest; now, especially.

 

It was cooler at night, but that still wasn’t saying much. Being under the cover of darkness maybe dropped the temperature a few degrees, but the muggy humidity stayed in the air, pulling the moisture from Tooru’s lungs and making his skin feel sticky.

He sat down just outside their little tent, leaning back against a tree. Even though it was still too, too hot out, Tooru shivered. A little plant poked out of the dirt, and curled around his big toe. Tooru looked at it with tired eyes. Even the plant seemed to know it wasn’t making things any better. When Tooru reached down to touch it with his finger, it bloomed into a little silver flower. When he pulled his finger away, it turned brown, wilting. It disintegrated to the ground.

“ _Beauty doesn’t last_ ,” Tooru muttered, remembering something his father told him when he was young. “ _Not forever_.”

 

(“ _Don’t cry over the dead flowers, boy. They’ll grow back next year_ ,” He took his son by the wrist, and pulled him inside for dinner.)

 

 

-

 

They didn’t know where the horse came from, or how it managed to stay alive with the bridle and harness still attached. Hajime ran up to it, eyes wide with awe.

“How in the _hell_ did you…” he muttered over and over, rubbing the horse’s shoulder. Tooru was close behind him. When he took a good look at it, his jaw fell slack.

“That’s my… father’s…” Tooru trailed off. Upon hearing his voice, the horse turned his head and trotted over to Tooru, nuzzling his face and snorting affectionately.

“What was that?” Hajime ran over just behind the horse, placing his hand on Tooru’s back, like he always did when Tooru looked like he was teetering over the edge.

“My father’s… horse…” Tooru lifted his hand and gently touched the horse’s neck. Fortunately, he seemed alive and well. “That… isn’t possible.”

“Well, apparently it is,” Hajime said quietly. “We should take him with us.”

Tooru nodded slowly. “No use in leaving him here alone.”

 

-

 

The horse slept outside the tent, with a little bucket of water by its head for drinking. Tooru couldn’t sleep. It seemed he couldn’t find sleep at all anymore. He stepped outside, smelling the air, but it wasn’t as calming as it used to be. Something sour twisted in his stomach, and Tooru scrunched his nose.

This was not the time to be overworrying himself. He sat down a bit farther away from their camp this time, shuddering as the warmth resettled in his bones. It was a particularly cool night, nice and refreshing, but the soft breeze suddenly seemed too cold. Tooru shivered, curling into himself. The sourness in his stomach only grew, feverish heat climbing up his throat.

He swallowed thinly, biting his bottom lip and clenching his fingers into fists. His heart started to thud a little faster.

_No_ , he thought to himself, _not now_. Please, _not now_.

He coughed, the scratchiness in his throat too unbearable to ignore anymore. His world tipped to the side, nausea turning his vision yellow. He wiped the spit from his mouth, but when he looked down, it wasn’t the same color. It was too dark, too dark. He couldn’t make out the color in the dark, but he knew deep down that it was red, red, red. He keeled over and threw up on the ground.

Tears welled in his eyes. His mouth tasted metallic and sour, like he’d sucked on an old metal coin. His arms and his legs felt too weak. He trembled in the dark. He looked down at his hands. His fingers twitched with nervous, feverish energy. Tooru sobbed, coughing.

He stayed there, forehead pressed to the ground in some attempt to ail the spinning of his head, until the morning sun rose, and Hajime found him there.

 

-

 

Tooru barely remembered the days after that. He remembered the pain, kicking the ground and screaming because it _wouldn’t go away, it wouldn’t go away_. He remembered cool cloths on his forehead, breathing heavily at night. He remembered that breathing felt like he was inhaling knives and exhaling needles that stuck in his throat.

Hajime tried to feed him, but that worked about as well as anything else. He couldn’t tell if the sobbing he heard was Hajime’s or his own. He heard his mother’s voice all too often, he heard Hajime’s voice all too often, and no matter how loud he screamed, how much he destroyed his vocal cords and threw up and hit the ground, the pain wouldn’t go away. The nausea was insatiable, and each time always hurt worse than the last.

He didn’t remember the sky or the stars, his voice wouldn’t work. His song wouldn’t work. Singing was so, so hard, because his throat either felt like a rock or like it would melt like candle wax.

One night, he even dreamed Hajime was there. It was the clearest he’d seen in so long. How long? Weeks? Months? Years? Or had it only been seconds?

(There was a glow around his face, like he was an angel. Hajime was an angel. Tooru wanted to reach his hand up, to touch his cheek and tell him to stop crying, why are you crying? I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.

His hand wouldn’t work. His voice wouldn’t work.

Wait… was Hajime… singing to him? Hajime never sang. Tooru must’ve been in really bad shape. He felt like he was floating.

“ _I won’t die, Hajime_ ,” his mind whispered. “ _I won’t_. _We’ve got to see the rain again, right? I won’t die, because we need to see the rain first_ … _It’ll rain soon, Hajime_ …”)

 

The light was bright in Tooru’s eyes. The sun was pretty today, wasn’t it? Maybe his mother was waiting for him, up past the sun. Maybe Hajime was there, too.

 

-

 

“ _No, don’t close your eyes, don’t, please, please don’t_ …” but no matter how many times Hajime repeated _please_ , he knew it was hopeless. He knew it was hopeless two days ago, when Tooru’s chest heaved, when he screwed his  eyes shut and whimpered like a dying animal. Anger boiled inside of Hajime, eating at his heart and flowing down his face in tears. He punched a rock. He kicked the ground. He didn’t care how many bones he’d probably broken, he was still angry.

_How had he been so dumb? He could’ve_ saved _Tooru, dammit, he could’ve_ done _something other than sing a stupid song. He_ knew _Tooru’s mother was full of bullshit, that’s the reason she died in the first place. If he had just stopped thinking about himself for a moment, he could’ve realized that Tooru had started looking paler lately— that he didn’t smile as much as he used to_.

He stroked the cold, soft skin of Tooru’s forearm, his thumb bumping over scabs from old cuts. Tooru breathed shallowly.

“Fucking, f-fucking _idiot_ ,” he choked, gripping Tooru’s hand tightly.

Tooru’s chapped lips moved then, he whispered words that Hajime couldn’t hear. Hajime leaned in, trying to quiet his own crying so he could hear what Tooru was saying.

“ _Won’t… die… won’t die, Hajime… I won’t…_ ” his eyelashes fluttered a little, but his hand remained limp in Hajime’s.

And it didn’t matter how disgusting they were, or how hot it was outside, or how sick and messed up Tooru was, Hajime leaned in and kissed him, because hell, he may never get the chance to again.

“ _Won’t die… love….won’t die…_ ” Tooru murmured against his lips, and Hajime sobbed, smiling. He was probably going crazy at this point, but nothing else mattered. Was he crying because he knew Tooru loved him? Was he crying because he knew Tooru was going to die?

He gently pressed his ear to Tooru’s chest, listening to his feeble heartbeat as the plague took him.

 

-

 

Hajime woke with a crick in his neck. He sat up, blinking around their tent.

“Tooru…” he murmured, but there was no response. His eyes shot open, and he looked around the little space. Tooru wasn’t there. He was panicking, panicking, panicking—

Hajime’s heart stopped. He took a moment to listen to the pitter-patter of _something_ against the tarp of their makeshift tent. Water fell into a little puddle in the corner of their little space. He heard a horse whinny outside, and the titter of weak laughter.

Hajime scrambled to his feet, running out of the tent and standing in the rain. Thick, gray clouds filled the skies above, and the cool water fell in big, fat droplets that collected in puddles at his feet and splashed back up to his ankles. The clean water cut lines through the thick grime that coated his feet and legs.

And there was Tooru, looking back at him with his bright brown eyes and soft little smile. He leaned heavily against the horse, but the beast didn’t seem to mind it, standing protectively over him.

“ _Tooru_ ,” Hajime’s throat closed up. He ran up to Tooru, slipping on wet leaves and nearly falling but _who cared_ — Hajime gathered Tooru in his arms and lifted him up into the air, fingers curled protectively around his waist.

 “ _I’m okay, love, I’m okay_ ,” he whispered into Hajime’s hair, thumb stroking over the back of Hajime’s neck.

 

-

 

It rained for a week after that. Hajime was sure to keep Tooru under every blanket they had with them. He did his best to expand the tent, so the horse could at least stay a little bit dry. The weather was miserable, and the skies were always gray, but Tooru didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

He slept, often with Hajime right next to him, holding his hand and pressing their foreheads together.

 

-

 

Tooru sat at the entrance to the tent, by his father’s horse, watching the rain. It had calmed down as of late, going from a raging storm to a light drizzle. Hajime crawled out and sat down next to him, something like a chill racing up his spine when Tooru immediately rested his head on Hajime’s shoulder. They watched the rainwater gather in puddles; the smell of damp leaves was less of a comfort than it had been a few days ago.

Tooru put his arm out of the tent flap, watching the rainwater fall onto his scarred, pale arms. Hajime had managed to start a fire, which was a wonder, considering all of the wood they had was drenched, but then again, nothing seemed real anymore. It was all rain and calm, diluted sunlight and Tooru.

“How did you live in that house, after your mother died?” Hajime whispered, and Tooru stilled. He slowly pulled his arm back into the tent, tucking it gently underneath his shawl. His eyelashes fluttered.

“I… don’t remember much,” he frowned. “. I thought I was the only one left alive in town. I hadn’t heard from you in… I don’t even remember how long.”

He went silent for a moment, but Hajime got the feeling he wasn’t done.

“I prayed to die.” Tooru’s voice shook. “It’s what I wanted… more than anything. To see my mother again. To see you again— I thought you were gone, too.

“I was so mad and angry and confused. I had no idea what was real and what was a dream… that’s what it was… just a long, long nightmare.” He curled in a little closer to Hajime.

Hajime brought his arm up and around Tooru’s shoulders, gently pulling him closer. He didn’t know how to explain it, but… he knew how Tooru felt. He understood the confusion. It all felt like a bad, bad nightmare— one you couldn’t shake off, even after you woke up.

He kissed Tooru’s temple. Tooru pressed his forehead to Hajime’s neck.

 

The next day, the rain had stopped. Hajime stepped outside, looking up. He let the horse stand and get some exercise, to stretch its legs. Back inside the tent, Tooru was still sleeping. Hajime lay down on his blanket next to him, reaching out to touch his cheek, gently.

_Gorgeous, even when he’s disgusting_ , Hajime thought absently.

 

-

 

Yahaba had already lost count of all the ants crawling around his feet when the foreigners came, so he was grateful for a distraction. Standing guard at the wall with Kyoutani was not an ideal way to spend his free time, but there was talk of pestilence that floated in from a few towns over, and precautions had to be taken if they were all going to get through this alive.

“Look!” Kyoutani said, looking out of the little slot in the door. A boy, maybe a little older than they were, was leading a beautiful gray speckled horse through the underbrush.

“D’you think he’s bringing the disease with him?” Yahaba whispered, pushing Kyoutani aside so he could get a look.

Kyoutani grunted, brushing dirt off of his shoulder. “Most likely,” he replied gruffly.

As they approached, Yahaba caught sight of a form on the horse’s back. He (at least, Yahaba suspected it was a he,) was leaned forward on the horse’s back, resting his forehead against the beast’s neck.

 “Look at those marks, on their legs!” Kyoutani hissed. “They’ve got to be infected.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be walking so well if he was sick, would he be?” Yahaba scowled, and shoved Kyoutani aside again. “Let me take care of this, tough guy.”

Kyoutani’s nostrils flared. “Listen, just because you’re the doctor’s son doesn’t give you a free pass to _bitch around_.”

Yahaba’s jaw fell, and he immediately flew into a retort. “You think you have any right to say something like that? Your butt would be _wasted_ out there if it wasn’t for me! Don’t act all big and strong. We’ve got people to take care of, you aren’t the big ol’ priority, like you think you are.”

Kyoutani stared at him, and Yahaba could’ve sworn there was steam coming out of his ears. There was a knock upon the door, and they both yelped. The both of them scrambled to get to the little slot, but unfortunately, Kyoutani was faster.

“Go away!” He barked. “Get that disgusting infection as far away from this place as possible!”

When the stranger replied, Yahaba knew that this was a snarling match between two dogs, not a civilized conversation between men. Well, they weren’t really men yet, he thought, so maybe labeling it as a dogfight _was_ more appropriate.

“Listen here, big stuff, you don’t know _half_ the shit we’ve seen. We’ve been out here for weeks, just the three of us, with nowhere else to go. Our entire home is wiped out, and so is everywhere else! You’re the first we’ve seen still alive and working, and I expected a bit of _help_ , but I guess a bit of bread and clean water is too much to ask. Now, kid, _open this door_ , before I break it down myself!”

“ _Don’t call me a kid_!” Kyoutani’s eyes were livid.

“Listen, you can do what you want with us. You can quarantine us, hold us away from everyone else, _hell_ , you can keep us in the stables with the _horse_ , but please, just—“

Yahaba heard someone call out, and presumed it was the guy on the horse. The first guy, who was ready to break the door in turned his head, his expression softening as he spoke in some other language to the other stranger. Kyoutani’s eye twitched.

“You done talkin’ to your sweetheart yet?” Kyoutani hissed, and the stranger whipped his head back around, his jaw set. Anger pulsed dangerously in his green eyes.

“Kentarou!” Yahaba cried. “Wait a minute, okay?”

Kyoutani  looked at Yahaba, stunned that he’d called him by his first name, but moved over anyway. Yahaba lifted the bar that locked the door, and swung it open.

The strangers were both filthy, like they hadn’t seen a bath in years. Their faces were caked with grime and filth and other things, but underneath all that, Yahaba saw the ghosts of old infection.

“You had the disease…” he started slowly. “And survived?”

He nodded once, his gaze still guarded as his eyes flitted over Yahaba, then over to Kyoutani.

“Show me the scars,” Yahaba ordered. The stranger waited a breath before rolling up his sleeves, and pushing down the collar of his tunic. Yahaba observed his skin, gaze trailing over the faded scars, and then to the cleaner skin. His color looked good, maybe a little malnourished, but that was expected, if they had truly been in the forest for awhile. Yahaba nodded slowly, and jerked his chin toward the other stranger, who sat on the horse. He appeared skinnier, and the bumps on his arms seemed newer.

“He’s alright,” The stranger spoke fondly, his voice lilting softly. “He… we were both sick. I recovered a while ago. He… he got infected more recently, but he’s alright.”

“Iwa-chan, I can speak for myself, thank you,” the other stranger spoke, raising an eyebrow as he looked back at the first stranger (now donned _Iwa-chan_.)

Iwa-chan shrugged. Kyoutani snorted, which earned him glares from both Iwa-chan and Yahaba. Yahaba stepped up to the stranger on the horse, and inspected the older wounds, what remained of the infection. He made a satisfied noise, and settled back on the balls of his feet. He turned to Kyoutani.

“Well, their complexions look good, and the swelling has definitely gone down. I think this guy’s telling the truth.” Yahaba crossed his arms, looking Kyoutani straight in the eyes, a silent challenge.

_Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me to screw off. I_ dare _you_.

“Fine,” Kyoutani huffed, crossing his arms. “We can let them in.”

Yahaba could have sworn he saw the slightest smile play across Kyoutani’s lips.

“Good, then,” he turned, beckoning the two strangers and their horse as Kyoutani pulled the ropes that opened the main gates. “Come on. We’ll take you to the manor house. They’ve got stuff there for you.”

 

-

 

The village was quite small, compared to home, Hajime thought as he followed the two guards into the village. Children and their parents alike stopped to stare at them, and Hajime felt his face burn. He looked down at his feet. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up. Tooru was watching him, warmth lingering in his brown eyes. Hajime loved the way the sun’s light caught in his hair, it looked like he had a halo, like he was an angel. Hajime smiled, and took Tooru’s hand gently in his, brushing his lips lightly over Tooru’s knuckles.

“Oh, my _chivalrous_ Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispered teasingly, but his voice sounded high and sweet, like when they raced back to town as the sun rose.

_Gods_ , that felt like a million years ago. When they rode their horses out in the cool summer nights. When Hajime would fantasize about what it would be like to run away with the one he loved.

When they stopped to bring the horse to a stable, Tooru immediately clung to Hajime’s back, throwing his arms over Hajime’s shoulders. Hajime only sighed fondly, hooking his arms under Tooru’s knees, and kept on walking with Tooru’s warmth on his back.

The manor house was and beautiful, and it was larger than any property Hajime had ever seen. Though the farmlands around it looked a bit dry and wilted, the grasses around the manor were greener, and the house itself was huge, with large windows where orange candlelight flickered, and a neat fence surrounded the perimeter.

“We do our best to keep the sick here. It’s become a sort of makeshift doctor’s office, if you will,” The guard, Yahaba, informed them. Hajime nodded, awestruck. He could feel Tooru’s heart beat excitedly against his back.

If Hajime thought the outside of the house was beautiful, than the inside was _breathtaking_. Ornate carpets lined the floors, and paintings hung from the walls, end tables with vases of dead flowers at the end of every corridor. The ceilings were higher than three Hajimes on top of each other, and each hallway twisted and turned, like a maze. Even though it was dark, there were fireplaces everywhere, so it was warm, and the air smelled of lavender and other oils that Hajime couldn’t place.

At last they entered a room that looked like a kitchen, where people (men and women alike) bustled around, carrying towels and new chamber pots and doctor’s equipment. Yahaba stepped up to a woman who had was tending a pot over a huge fire, stirring and dropping in ingredients every so often.

“Ma’am, some new people arrived today, at the gate, and—“

“I thought you were supposed to be _guarding_ that door, son, not letting _more_ disease in.”

Yahaba’s voice faltered. He frowned. “ _Ma_ ,” he whispered angrily. “ _They’re recovering_.”

She looked up, raising her eyebrows. “You mean they survived?”

“Yes, Ma, they’re right outside, and they can _hear_ you, so—“

Yahaba’s mother peered over her shoulder, eyebrows rising even further as Hajime and Tooru caught her eye. “Mmm…” she hummed. “They look about your age, wouldn’t you say? Brave boys they are, surviving in times like these. Nobody was with them?”

“Just a horse, but we’ve already taken care of that.” Yahaba puffed his chest out a little bit, proud to act responsible in front of his mother. “He’s in the stables now, resting.”

“Good,” she turned back to her pot, stirring the contents a bit more. A wonderful smell, like onions and meat and bread and butter all wafted towards Hajime at once, and his mouth watered. He felt Tooru’s stomach growl against his back. Yahaba’s mother called out to the crowd, and two people stepped up, a girl and a boy. She gave them a few orders, and they nodded. When she motioned over to Hajime and Tooru in the doorway, they both turned to look at them. Their eyes widened, but they kept nodding. After she’d dismissed them, they both stepped up to Hajime.

The boy looked about the same age as them, but he stood about a head taller than Hajime.

“I can take him,” he said in a low voice, pointing to Tooru.

Tooru’s grip tightened around Hajime’s neck.

“Ah, don’t worry, Ushijima can take care of him,” Yahaba appeared from behind the towering figure’s back.

“C’mon, Tooru, you’ll be alright.”

“But… but you—“

“It’s alright,” Hajime whispered, letting Tooru slide down off of his back. He was still a bit wobbly on his feet, but Hajime took both of his hands. “You need to get cleaned up anyways, your hair looks like a rat’s nest.”

Tooru frowned, but it was obvious he was trying not to smile.

 He squeezed Tooru’s hands in his. “Go on.”

Tooru nodded slowly, and followed Ushijima, leaning doubtfully onto his arm. He looked back at Hajime one last time before disappearing down the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” Yahaba placed a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. “He’s in good hands. My father should be able to see to him shortly.”

Hajime nodded, but it still felt like his heart had been dragged away down the hall, disappearing with Tooru and Ushijima.

 

-

 

The girl was very nice to him, and showed him to a grand bedroom, with a bathroom attached. The bath—a _full-size tub_ , the ones only rich people could ever afford—was already filled with warm water. Hajime’s eyes widened as he looked around the room.

“It’s yours,” the girl said, amused at Hajime’s awe. “Just until you’re alright to leave.”

“Really?” Hajime asked, incredulous.

She nodded. “Once the sickness started up, this lord of the manor opened up his house for all those infected. He’s a physician, you see. He takes care of the sick, does his best to figure out how to help more people survive. He’s a very nice man.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“Well,” the girl sighed. “I’ll leave you here, now. If you need anything, you can call out. There are always guards wandering the halls.”

“Guards?” asked Hajime.

She nodded. “A group of retired knights. They don’t talk much about themselves—well, they don’t really talk much at all, but they’re quite helpful during times like these.”

Hajime nodded. The girl smiled. “I’d better be going. There’ll be new clothes for you on the bed when you’re finished washing.”

“Okay,” Hajime nodded, and she turned and left the room, the door falling shut behind her with a soft thump.

 

Hajime realized he’d even forgotten the color of his own skin, during those last few weeks. It felt like he’d die with dirt covering his body. He scrubbed at his arms and legs and hands and face and hair until the water in the tub was nearly black. He inspected the scars on his forearms and on the inside of his thighs. They didn’t stick up as much as they used to; merely faded memories of those last days in Tooru’s house. But they were reminders. He wouldn’t ever forget that pain, that delirium he was driven to.

(“ _Remember, Hajime, wash under your fingernails, behind your ears, and between your legs_ ,” his mother yelled to him from the other side of the door.

“ _Ma_ ,” he whined. “ _I_ know, _alright?_ ”

“ _Alright, alright_ ,” she chuckled. Hajime listened to the sound of her footsteps disappear down the stairs.)

Hajime let his forehead rest on his knees. Silent tears slid down his cheeks. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve this wonderful bath, when so many weren’t allowed clean water to bathe in. He missed Tooru already, that steady warmth at his side.

He wondered which room Tooru was staying in. He wondered if Tooru really _would_ be okay.

 

Clean, new clothes were waiting for him on the bed, just as the girl had told him. He picked up the tunic, feeling the soft material between his fingers. For a fleeting second, he missed his old threadbare tunic, the one his mother made for him. He frowned.

The bed was softer than any bed Hajime had ever slept on. He already felt his eyes falling shut when there was a loud bang just outside in the hall. He reluctantly got up from the bed and opened the door, to see Ushijima standing down the hall, frowning at a closed door.

_Tooru_.

Hajime hated the way his heart started beating a little faster. He stepped out of his room and padded down the hallway in his bare feet. Ushijima didn’t look at him as he approached.

“What’s the matter?” Hajime asked. He didn’t realize how _tall_ Ushijima was until he stood next to him. Hajime felt his confidence deflate a little.

Ushijima took a moment to answer. “He’s… stubborn.”

Hajime dissolved into laughter. Ushijima turned and scowled at him. Wiping tears from his eyes, Hajime sighed. “That’s… that’s one way to put it. Can I go in?” He settled his hand on the metal doorknob.

Ushijima stepped out of the way. “I’ll wait out here.”

Hajime nodded, opening the door.

“I _told_ you to go _away_ , you little—“ Tooru turned, and his voice faltered. “…Hajime?”

Hajime’s heart flipped a few times as he looked at Tooru.

_Gorgeous_ , his heart gushed. _He’s gorgeous_.

Tooru was sitting in front of the fireplace, wearing his own new clothes. Even though it was still summer, a fire crackled in the hearth. His hair was still damp, and his bangs clung to his forehead. He stood, and on wobbly legs, he crashed into Hajime, throwing his arms around his neck. He felt tears gather in his eyes again, as he held Tooru close. He’d forgotten how soft, how warm his skin was, he’d forgotten the smell of honeysuckle and lavender that always seemed to linger about him, he’d forgotten how skinny they’d both become and he was crying again, into Tooru’s shoulder.

“You’re such a crybaby, such a crybaby,” Tooru murmured, even though Hajime was sure he was crying, too. Tooru softly kissed his neck, over and over and over, his fingers gently tracing little shapes onto Hajime’s back. He never wanted to let go, never, never.

 

When Ushijima opened the door again, Tooru was sitting on the bed, Hajime’s head resting in his lap. Though his expression didn’t change at all, Tooru noticed his cheeks had gone a little pink.

“ _What_ ,” Tooru spat. He felt Hajime chuckle.

“The doctor is here,” Ushijima replied, voice as even and nonchalant as ever. Tooru bit his tongue before any snide remarks slipped. Hajime sat up again, and Ushijima moved out of the doorway to allow the doctor in. Tooru noticed that Yahaba the gate guard looked a lot like his father. They had the same, round brown eyes and lazy, crooked smile.

“Well, you two have been through a lot, haven’t you?” the doctor raised his eyebrows.

Tooru and Hajime exchanged glances.

“You could say that…” Hajime muttered. Tooru laughed, but it was a choked, watery sort of sound.

 

-

 

“You need to stop sneaking around at night!” Yahaba would scold Tooru, both walking through the halls.

“Why?” Tooru asked. “You scared we’ll do something… _scandalous_?” He smirked as Yahaba’s face turned bright red.

“N-no!” he spluttered. “You just, you can’t, you—you—“

“Your father told me I needed lots of rest still, right?” Tooru’s voice dropped a little bit. “It’s… harder. Without Iwa-chan there.”

Yahaba was silent. He’d come to learn that Oikawa Tooru’s aura could change in a matter of seconds, and he spoke flippantly more often than not. Yahaba had no idea what had happened to him and Iwaizumi out there, (not that he didn’t want to ask,) but he was polite enough to not push things like that.

“Well, I’m just warning you, you could get in serious trouble if you’re found out by one of those knights.” Yahaba sighed, crossing his arms. Tooru hummed softly, his hand resting upon one of the end tables. The vase sitting on it was full of dead, dried flowers. Yahaba watched, as Tooru hummed, how the stems of the flowers began to swell again, wrinkles firming up and leaves un-crinkling as they turned green once more. The petals gained their velvetiness again, and the muddy browns and ochres turned to bright greens and purples and yellows.

Yahaba’s eyes widened. Tooru stopped humming, and the flowers lost their color once more, wilting and drying up. Tooru smiled vacantly at Yahaba.

 

“So… uh…” Kyoutani scratched the back of his head. “What’s… your name? I never. Asked you that, before…”

As soon as Yahaba’s father deemed him healthy enough to help out, they put Hajime to work. In the meantime, he helped around the manor house, but everyone had agreed that when Tooru recovered fully, they would be moved somewhere together. After all, they were already inseparable.

Hajime raised an eyebrow, amused. “Iwaizumi.”

“Ah,” Kyoutani nodded, a little too enthusiastically. “Iwaizumi. Thanks. I’m… Kyoutani. Kentarou.”

Hajime smirked. “Nice to meet you, then. Forgive me for the way I acted when we first showed up. We were, uh… a little desperate.”

Kyoutani scowled. _What is_ up _with this guy_? _Why the hell is he so polite_?

“How’ve you managed to keep the place clean all this time?” Hajime asked.

“Clean?” Kyoutani asked, snapped from his thoughts.

“I mean, it seems like nobody here is in a _huge_ panic over the disease,” Hajime continued. “And so many are helping out here, as well.”

“Ah, I guess… once someone is sick, they’re brought here immediately. The doctor is pretty good, so he usually knows what to do to keep the infection quarantined. Plus, most of us here in the house have come from other places, like you. A lot of us have been sick with it, and we’ve all lived, so we’ve all been put to work to help others live.”

Hajime raised his eyebrows. “Really? But you… seem more like a lone wolf to me.”

Kyoutani scowled.

“Back to silence, then?” Hajime chuckled. “Alright.”

They worked for a little.

“Shigeru,” Kyoutani muttered.

“What?” Hajime paused, looking up.

“It was Shigeru. I was… in a bad spot. And Shigeru came and helped me. He brought me here.”

Hajime blinked at Kyoutani, who didn’t look up. He guessed that _Shigeru_ was Yahaba’s given name. Well, judging from the fact that Kyoutani was always gravitating towards Yahaba, anyways.

 

-

 

Hajime ran his fingers through Tooru’s hair.

“The doctor says we can stay with his family, just until we’re old enough to go out on our own,” Tooru whispered, his hand sneaking under the hem of Hajime’s tunic and lightly tracing at the skin there.

“You mean with Yahaba’s family? Are you sure that’s okay with them?” Hajime’s voice was low and scratchy. Tooru shivered.

“Oh, if anything, he insisted. It’s… awfully nice of them.”

Hajime kissed Tooru’s forehead. He kissed the tip of his nose, and his cheeks, and mouthed along his jaw before reaching his lips. Tooru chuckled softly, but Hajime could feel the skin heating up beneath his fingers. Hajime wrapped his arms around Tooru’s waist, pulling him closer and snuggling into him under the blankets.

“ _I love you_ …” Tooru whispered. Hajime craned his neck, kissing underneath Tooru’s jaw.

“ _’love you too_ ,” he murmured quietly against Tooru’s bare chest.

 

-

 

On the roof of the Yahabas’ cabin (which lay just outside the fence of the manor’s property,) sat Tooru, wrapped in a thick blanket. It was night, but he could still hear banging and laughing and yelling coming from the main drag of the town. They had no idea what havoc the plague had wreaked outside of their little walled-in town. This place was solace in the middle of the tumult.

“They say there’re places to the east that haven’t been affected at all,” Hajime’s voice floated up. His head popped up over the edge of the roof, followed by the rest of him as he climbed; he crawled over to Tooru, doing his best not to slip.

“What about them?” Tooru smiled softly at Hajime, watching him dust himself off as he sat down.

“Well, y’know… I figured… we could go there one day.”

Tooru didn’t respond. Hajime’s hand snaked under the blanket, taking Tooru’s hand in his. He laced their fingers together.

“That would be nice,” Tooru spoke quietly. Hajime looked at him. Tooru’s hair had grown much longer over the past weeks; coppery brown locks curling underneath his ears and soft fringe falling into his eyes.

A cool breeze blew through, and they both shivered. Hajime took a deep breath, and laughed.

“What?” Tooru asked.

“Smells… smells like it’s getting colder…” he chuckled. Tooru squeezed his hand.

“I _told_ you the cold has a smell!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell @ me on [tumblr](https://para-k33t.tumblr.com/) about how bad this is


End file.
